


Ritual Grace

by Anonymous



Category: Gloomverse (Webcomic)
Genre: Consent is Sexy, Ecoverse, F/F, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I couldn’t resist sneaking Malus in there because I love her, Making Out, Oral Sex, Ritual Sex, Rituals, This contains lots and lots of walking as part of a rite of passage, This is also an excuse to expand on what little we know of Ecoversian lore, ok kids might want to skip the rest of the tags, sometimes you gotta be gently topped by your goddess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Cocos Nucifera is on her way to officially become Shaman. There is one last thing she needs to do; a nocturnal journey into a holy land.First chapter is safe for work (though perhaps scenery porn?).Second chapter is very much not.
Relationships: Shaman Cocos (Gloomverse)/Hyacinth (Gloomverse)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 10
Collections: Anonymous





	1. The Journey

Cocos Nucifera can hardly believe what she is currently living. 

She has dreamed of, and aimed to become a Shaman for many years. Now it is finally  _ here _ , and the party in her honor is reaching an end along with the twilight. 

She feels very young, younger than she’s felt in years, though Cocos was forbidden from drinking mead and wine at the feast. Perhaps it’s the exhilaration, then, the dancing and singing. Perhaps it’s the way the sky is darkening over the trees, perhaps it’s the birdsong quieting along with her people, perhaps it’s the prospect of her final journey before being inducted.

She knows nothing of it, besides that she will be lead to a path, and that she will have to walk that path in solitude. The Shaman who chose her spoke precious little about it—  _ respect your own wishes, and respect our goddess _ .  _ It is always your choice to grant and accept grace.  _ Quite obscure directions, but the flush buzzing in her brain tells her not to worry. She is to be joyful; she is to be faithful; it is a hallowed day. 

Cocos has been blessed with oils and perfume in preparation, patterns drawn on her skin with red soil. She was told to dance and sing as she wished, but not to exhaust herself before the journey; a light burn hovers in her muscles, but nothing that won’t go away from sitting on the ground a few minutes, as she is doing now.

A circle of quiet draws around her as the guests leave without saying goodbye. That would be bad luck, she is not leaving. Instead, friends greet her one last time as an equal, and family wishes her good night. She will see them at dawn. 

Still, light anxiety bubbles in her chest as the last of the sun disappears behind the horizon. It is time for Cocos to leave. She observes the swirling patterns on her legs, monochrome paintings of vines, leaves and flowers; those of her ancestors, and of the Shamans before her. Her successor will be adorned with soil-red palm tree leaves someday.

Cocos rises to her feet, slowly making her way to the edge of the clearing under the burning gaze of the stars. The previous Shaman is waiting for her, a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Cocos. Blessed to see you well. Are you ready?”

Cocos nods, throat a little dry.

“Follow me,” the Shaman says, and walks into the jungle. It seems to Cocos that the trees and undergrowth always part for her; the younger woman has to battle to keep up the pace, and she worries about what that could mean for the ritual ahead.

They walk a long time. Cocos’ thoughts quiet over time, replaced by the simple struggle to move forward in lush undergrowth. 

“From here,” her mentor suddenly says quietly ahead of Cocos, “this is holy ground.” 

There is no boundary that Cocos can see. The moss feels the same under the bare feet, the branches intertwine along the same patterns. The canopy is just as thick. Perhaps all of nature is holy, she muses, and the designation is purely practical, set only in order to protect something else.

Cocos has never been here; only Shamans are allowed so far into this jungle. She is surprised and awed when the last of the sunlight goes out, and the forest lights up.

She has seen glowing cave mushrooms before. They are used as traditional medicine, one of the purest cures, and they are not uncommon to see during cave visits Cocos has partained in as part of her Shaman training. 

She had no idea that there were similar plants above ground. It’s beautiful. Not every plant glows; the forest is a pattern of light and darkness intertwined in phosphorescence, the vines and leaves wrapping around giant trunks like ghosts. The trees grow wider and wider, more ancient, and she couldn’t tell the spirits and living apart here. How long have they been walking?

Eventually the two women reach another clearing. A clear path weaves away from it, deeper into the land still, but the older Shaman has stopped walking. “This is where we part. Think of this not as separation, but as the natural course of birth; you will never truly be alone even if from here on, you no longer need me to walk with you. Be blessed on your journey, Cocos Nucifera.”

“I… thank you,” Cocos says, a lump in her throat. There are no ritual words for her to say.  _ It is always your choice to grant and accept grace _ , she has been told, and she carries this truth in her heart. “For your guidance. Everything.”

Her mentor’s face crinkles into a smile. “I will see you at dawn.” She retreats the way she came without a goodbye.

Cocos waits until her steps fade away. She is truly alone with her thoughts now, no matter what her mentor says. She takes a deep breath, and walks the path.

It is humbling to think this path was walked by countless generations of Shamans, Cocos muses. A thousand and a half years. The trees grow even bigger, so tall that Cocos can’t properly see where they end; but the jungle isn’t dark.

She had expected critters to rustle the bushes. There were a few on the way. But here there is only silence, like the looming nature is holding her breath along with Cocos, slowly weighing responsibility onto her shoulders. 

Of all things that she expected at the end of her path however, it was not a small creek. Her feet sink into damp white sand, leaving moss, grass, leaves and powdery earth behind.

She is confused. Has she taken the wrong path? Why is there water in her way? Does she need to walk around it? The borders of the creek look either unstable or dense with undisturbed vegetation. Is there a hidden boat? Taking part in such a water-related activity would be unholy during such a ritual, wouldn’t it?

“You took your time.” 

Cocos flinches, having not expected to hear a voice. It’s rough, like running your hand on weathered bark, and it singes like cider— not quite acid, but not sweet enough to cover the burning, either.

The woman who just spoke wears a blue dress, her dark green locks almost sweeping the forest ground. Her bare arms are crossed and she is barefoot, but Cocos notices no mud or grass stain on them, unlike her own. The stranger looks the same age as Cocos, perhaps younger (twenties?), but blue gems gleam on her forehead. The Shaman to be knows who this is.

This is a goddess— a terrible goddess of water and war and retribution, and she isn’t smiling; so Cocos does. “Blessed to meet you, Malus,” she says, voice almost perfectly even.

Malus uncrosses her arms, walking forward on the edge of the water. “Likewise.” Her tone sounds dismissive, unserious, unlike what Cocos had ever imagined, and she holds out her hand. “I will take you to Her.”

Cocos considers the outstretched hand. Is this a test? Is she supposed to refuse assistance? She is sworn to Hyacinth. Would it be betrayal?

_ It is always your choice to grant and accept grace. _

She takes the hand. “Thank you.”

“Would you like a drink?” Malus offers, raising her free hand, and like a miracle, crystal clear water rises in the air from the mirror-like pond. “You’ve come a long way.”

Cocos’ throat is paper dry. She’ll listen to what her body needs. “Yes, please.” Malus’ free hand cups near Cocos’ lips, letting water pool inside of it, and Cocos drinks. The water is fresh, but it’s hard to focus on with those soft fingers so near her mouth as she laps at the water. The intimate gesture is over in an instant, but it leaves Cocos feeling flushed.

Malus’ remaining hand is particularly warm, clasped over Cocos’. Yes. Perhaps. The goddess is really pretty. Maybe Cocos is having a little secret crisis about it. She is going to pointedly look at the beautiful scenery now. 

Thankfully, Malus says nothing more, turning on her heel to enter the water instead. Cocos follows, heart beating hard in her chest. Are they going to swim? Or..?

When Malus’ foot touches the water, she does not sink, and neither does Cocos. The water laps at the soles of their feet, washing dirt off them. A strange yet fascinating sensation. They walk straight across the mirror-still water like they’re strolling among stars and glowing spirits. 

“Most little Shamans like you are fussy when they first see me,” Malus says, interrupting her thoughts. Cocos focuses back on the goddess, realizing that she is being observed. “You have guts. That’s good.” 

Cocos hadn’t expected praise, and she almost forgets to answer. “Thank you?” Her cheeks warm. She wants to say something more goddess-appropriate, like  _ that is blessed to hear _ , but she is realizing that she is wildly unprepared to talk to beautiful higher beings properly. Perhaps she isn’t supposed to.

They reach the other side of the pond. They step back onto grass, but Malus doesn’t let go of her hand right away. “Hyacinth is right ahead. Have fun.”

Fun???

Cocos’ hand is lightly squeezed, and then it feels cold when Malus lets go of it. 

The goddess walks away the way they came. There is another path from this side of the pond, much larger than the last, like it’s been intentionally cleared— but Cocos can’t pick up signs of maintenance. It is more like the plants had decided to grow apart, leaving only a carpet of glowing green moss, and purple flowers on either edge of it. 

She walks in the center, tiredness draping itself lightly over her shoulders. She’s been walking for a long time now, and it is getting quite late; the journey chips at her endurance. She hopes it isn’t much longer—

“Greetings, dear Cocos,” a soft voice says. “It is so blessed to meet you.” This time Cocos doesn’t flinch, even though she failed to notice the goddess before she was right in front of her again. 

Cocos takes a second to find her voice. “It is blessed to meet you as well.” Truly so.

Hyacinth, too, is beautiful. Her light green plant-hair grows short. She is shorter and wider than Cocos, and large green gems gleam above her bare chest, adorning her collarbone. There is something warm about her expression that immediately puts Cocos at ease; but there is an edge to it, something greater, something terrible and powerful that makes her blood thrum in her ears in both fear and awe.

Hyacinth takes her hand, much like Malus had done. Her trimmed nails are painted the same green as her hair, and her skin is cooler, letting Cocos warm it instead. She leads Cocos down the wide winding path. “You have come a long way. Thank you.” She bounces lightly when she walks. “Is your heart at peace?”

“Yes…” But she thinks back to her meeting with Malus again. “Almost. Why was She here?”

Hyacinth smiles kindly, and Cocos comes to understand how this woman brought peace to their land with her voice and wit. “We are not enemies. Mutual respect and love are vital components of peace— it is important for all Shamans to understand this.” Cocos nods. As expected, her goddess is a wise woman; she feels blessed and proud to serve her.


	2. The Destination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyacinth and Cocos become intimately acquainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very NOT safe for work. You have been warned!

The trail finally ends underneath the biggest tree she has ever seen; Hyacinth leads her down to sit in the grass between its roots, and kneels next to her. “I know you think of me as a goddess,” Hyacinth says, “but tonight we are equals. Speak your mind freely.” The roots are taller than Cocos when she sits. 

She doesn’t find any more questions, so after a moment, Hyacinth takes her hand. “Would you mind if I kissed your skin?” 

Cocos feels herself blush, though she knows it shouldn’t be too visible. She nods wordlessly, and the goddess kisses her palm, each of her knuckles, gently. “Do you know that you are blessed, Cocos?”

“I am blessed to be in your presence.” Her hand tingles.

Hyacinth laughs. “Do not flatter me. You are blessed to be born, blessed to have gotten so far in your life. Each day is a precious gift, for each and every creature.” She kisses her wrist, feels the pulse thrumming inside. Cocos can feel it too, drumming in her ears, as Hyacinth makes her way up higher up her arm with her mouth. She traces the vines and flowers drawn on Cocos’ body hours ago; they have faded by now, and yet she seems to know exactly where they go, retracing the path up to her shoulder.

Cocos bites her lip. She leans backwards over the large root behind her, the wood and moss a welcome support after hours spent walking, and the bark pressing against her spine doesn’t hurt; it’s grounding, rather, when the goddess leans forward to kiss the painted flower on her neck. 

Wow. She really is being kissed. By her goddess.  _ Nice _ . Nervous energy threads through Cocos’ body like scalding vines. She can’t help but grin, and if the flush is barely noticeable on her dark skin, Cocos herself is acutely aware of it. Her hands grasp at Hyacinth’s back to support the weight. 

Hyacinth’s bare chest and hers are pressed together —green gems cool against Cocos’ skin— and, because she is taller, the goddess has to climb over her lap to reach. She nips lightly at Cocos’ skin, where the Shaman knows a painted flower was drawn budding. As teeth ghost over her and in the fevered haze of her thoughts she wonders how she tastes. Like the blessings she received? Like the soil and the forest she crossed? She breathes in hard, Hyacinth’s weight solid over her lungs, her scent even more so. Hyacinth smells like flowers and honey, like she’s made of the sweet things nature has to offer, and what could be more fitting for a deity such as her?

Hyacinth peppers kisses along her jaw, and then she pulls away; her warm breath tickles Cocos’ shoulder, unable to reach higher, and she pulls the Shaman back to the earth. Cocos almost whines in dismay, but she doesn’t, because that would be out of line, but Hyacinth smiles at her. They are kneeling face to face again, Cocos’ wrists in Hyacinth’s hands until—

“May I touch you?” The goddess asks, hands sliding up to Cocos’ shoulders. Her thumbs run small circles against her collarbone. 

“Of course,” Cocos croaks, her throat dry. She swallows, trying to smooth it out. 

A hand flies to Cocos’ chin, “May I kiss  _ you _ ?” The goddess asks, tilting it down, closer. The whispered words brush against Cocos’ lips. 

Cocos can only nod, and their lips meet. Something warm coils inside of her, bristling in happiness. The skin of their chests press against one another, and Cocos knows what paint remains on her is rubbing off on her deity’s own skin. Her stomach flips at the thought.

Their lips part only the time of a breath, and then the deity climbs fully on her lap, clasps her hands behind Cocos’ head, and kisses her again. 

Cocos wants to taste her lips. What are the boundaries here? Is she only allowed to respond, or can she initiate? 

_ Respect your own wishes, and respect our goddess _ .  _ It is always your choice to grant and accept grace. _

Cocos pulls away, and Hyacinth pauses in response, watching her Shaman attentively. “May  _ I _ touch you? May I kiss you?” Cocos asks, a little breathless. Maybe a little too eagerly. But if Hyacinth cares that she is eager, she must be pleased by it. 

“Yes, you may,” Hyacinth says, and waits, a twinkle in her eye. Waits to see what Cocos will do. A shudder crosses the Shaman’s body, and she closes her eyes, leans forward to kiss her goddess; licks at her lip, still a little hesitant. 

She is rewarded. Hyacinth nips at Cocos’ lower lip, drawing out another shudder, and when she parts her mouth, the deity gently deepens the kiss and pushes her backwards until she’s lying down on the floor, Hyacinth holding herself over her. 

It takes Cocos a moment to remember she is allowed to touch. She runs her hand along the back offered to her, her nails scratching skin gently. A knee presses itself between Cocos’ thighs, and she lets out a low whine.

Hyacinth pulls away again, glistening lips hovering over hers, lets Cocos breathe in rasps. She sits between Cocos’ parted thighs and observes, not judgemental, not unkindly; and more than the activity it’s this gentleness that fills the Shaman with warmth… 

While Cocos catches her breath, Hyacinth passes a hand through her palm tree leaves, ordering them around Cocos’ head so that none will be folded uncomfortably. She can feel the goddess’s fingers run over the green veins. Her feather light touches only adds to the existing fire. Is this what forests feel when they become ash, dust all over again?

The hands follow the veins of the leaves to Cocos’ scalp, down the side of her face, down the line of her pulse; Cocos shudders then, and Hyacinth smiles knowingly. A trimmed nail rakes a light line over her collarbone, and the palm lands over a breast, gentle squeeze taking Cocos off guard. She makes a noise she doesn’t particularly want to name. 

Hyacinth examines her Shaman’s expression, suddenly still. “Is this alright?” she asks, and Cocos nods enthusiastically. The touches resume, and vines of pleasure wrap around her spine; she can’t help but squirm. Her self consciousness has been chipped at, however, so she doesn’t mind. She wants her goddess to know what effect she has on her, wants her to know she is adored by her people. By her. 

In the meantime Hyacinth’s left hand trails down her stomach, her side, her hip, stopping at the hem of Cocos’ skirt. It plays with it a moment, teasing, but not daring to dip underneath. Instead the goddess’s hands take hold of Cocos’ body, leans all her weight forward, and her lips close in on Cocos’ breast. 

Cocos’ sharp intake of breath almost jostles her deity. She doesn’t want her to stop, and she hopes with all her might that she will understand it was surprise, and not distaste; though if not context, then perhaps the throaty noises Cocos is making will clue her in. She is starting to feel... a little overwhelmed, heat building between her parted thighs. Is that alright, too? 

Hyacinth lifts her head and meets her eyes, and Cocos decides that goddess certainly knows. “Please,” the Shaman chokes out in a prayer, and gentle fingers brush her leafy bangs aside. 

“Of course.” 

Strong hands take hold of the underside of Cocos’ knees, and gently part her legs; she’s burning, she’s sure she’s burning, but those hands burn more, and the hands and the twinkling eyes and the night air cooling the wet across her are all that Cocos can keep track of.

Hyacinth kisses the inside of her thighs. She trails patterns drawn long ago, nips at them and Cocos’ hands find themselves sinking into the leaves of her deity’s hair. She feels a chuckle ripple more than she hears it— she can’t hear anything over her pleading voice anymore. Her goddess kisses her lips, licks at them, and Cocos can’t help but tremble, blood ablaze.

Her flesh turns to burning stars, and she blacks out. 

When she comes to, she realizes her body still burns, but with exhaustion this time. Also, her throat is dry. Hyacinth is still there, looking over her with a mix of kindness and satisfaction. 

She is offered water in a clay bowl. Cocos sits up, still a little dazed— it tastes like stars and earth on her tongue and she’s not sure what to say now. She’s tired, pleasantly tired.

“You can sleep,” Hyacinth tells her like she read her thoughts. “You are welcome here, Shaman Cocos Nucifera.”

There’s a rhythm to the forest now, she muses. Something she couldn’t hear before. It thrums all around her like it’s sapient, and she is part of it, exactly in the right place, a cell in a bigger organism. 

“Good night,” Cocos tells her goddess.


End file.
